


do you still believe in love i wonder?

by Yotsubadancesintherain5



Series: Fairytale/Supernatural [20]
Category: Mahou Shoujo Madoka Magika | Puella Magi Madoka Magica
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, F/F, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-29
Updated: 2019-05-29
Packaged: 2020-03-26 14:18:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19007509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yotsubadancesintherain5/pseuds/Yotsubadancesintherain5
Summary: It's something that starts with letters.





	do you still believe in love i wonder?

It began years ago, when Madoka was a child just figuring out her magic and her parents traveled all around the world. One of their first spots was a simple town where they spoke with other grown-ups and Madoka was left to play with another girl her age. They first bonded over their braids and then of their first hints of magic and spent the day making small spells, like a shower of bubbles and easily twining flowers into a stem crown.

In their blossoming friendship they didn’t want to leave each other and were contented to write letters. Madoka always put the next location she was going to go in her letters, with a check by her parents to make sure that it was correctly spelled and legible.

On her travels Madoka learned her magic from so many different people, and found herself drawn most to restoration magic. She detailed all of these adventures to Homura and received stories from Homura and potion instructions and assorted presents. Madoka would carefully choose what to send back.

As the years went by Madoka had more than a few boxfuls of letter and by the time she was old enough to travel on her own her family finished their traveling and went to a permanent residence.

With this newfound time to think Madoka could reflect on her letters, and had that first inclination that she was wishing for a little more, and it seemed all her bravery was stolen from her.

But she had to stand up gracefully and wonder what her mama would do, to which the answer was, “Write a letter and tell her that you are coming to visit. This sort of thing can only be done in person.”

So Madoka got her supplies in order and on the way to the town she picked up a potion that was supposed to inspire bravery. It smelled pleasantly of honeysuckles and she got a brief amount of advice to go with it as she left but still felt that these things were easier said than done.

The ribbons on her clothes felt too constricting as she got closer to the town and the fluffiness on the sides was supposed be an anchor for her restless hands but now it just hung flat. The fluff at the hem was spared, and now she kept her hands on the strap of her knapsack.

The stony road turned to dirt and Madoka remembered that she had to walk through a huge field, what seemed like the size of an ocean when she was a child, to get to the town. She forced her jelly-like legs to keep going.

And then stopped. There was a distinctive smell in the air, above the autumn fruits and the grassy field, a musty scent that made Madoka’s brain crackle with trying to pinpoint her recognition of it; then an image of a textbook she studied about transformation spells and what would happen if spoken wrongly, the description of this scent, and suddenly, _hemlock_.

Madoka ran in the direction of the scent and there in the fields was a tower created of invasive purple vines, stretching up into the sky. The air brimmed with malice, and Madoka’s hands began to reach for the potion in her knapsack and then thought better of it; she didn’t know what was within and would need to save the potion.

There was an opening at the base, and Madoka climbed inside to find that there were no rooms, just a stalk that sprout upwards, upwards, and Madoka steeled herself and began to climb.

On the ground floor the vines were smooth and she could grasp them without pain, but as Madoka got higher up they became akin to a rose’s stalk with small thorns. Madoka maneuvered herself, acutely aware of the distance down below, and to great relief found a vine devoid of thorns.

There were jeers and taunts when the rose stalks appeared, seemingly digging into her thoughts and shouting them back at her.

“You could never do it.”

“Give up.”

“You can’t, you can’t, you can’t.”

In that moment Madoka’s mind decided to add a long buried memory to the chorus of insults. When she was a child and there were musicians with their faces obscured for a play, a concert, somewhere in the dark and unknown, their drums deafening and reverberating against Madoka’s heartbeat and her fingers nearly lost their grip on the vines. She held back on tightly and steadied her breathing.

“It’s just malicious magic,” she whispered, and her mind scrambled for anything comforting, anything that could be repeated, and she spoke.

“As good and kind as the day is long.” The phrase was silent, and yelled when the taunting got especially loud, and her arms ached and her shoulders screamed with pain, weighted by her knapsack, her knees creaked as she climbed.

She felt flatness with her left hand and pushed herself up onto the platform of vines, laughing desperately, relieved, and she lurched forward in exhaustion.

There was a wall of purple vines in front of her, and Madoka could vaguely see someone behind the vines, and quietly pieced together a reason for why this tower was here; someone misspoke on a transformation spell and ran out to the field so that no one would be hurt. And now Madoka was here to help.

Madoka pulled through the vines, her nails tearing through the skin of the unnatural covering, and she managed to dig a hole in the barrier. She dug at that area, the flesh of the vines becoming embedded in her fingernails, and finally it tore open to reveal the source of this magical upheaval. Her heart thudded painfully in recognition and horror.

A girl Madoka’s age, motionless, hunched over herself and her eyes glassy. Her braid coiled around her, turning from black to the dark purple, and Madoka nearly tripped over her feet in running to her.

“Homura,” she said tentatively, and her heart panged when she received no answer. Her mind raced with restoration spells, a key ingredient shouting in her brain when she narrowed down the options, and she drew out the potion from her knapsack.

Madoka murmured the spell, quickly, and there was a twitch, a small light in Homura’s eyes.

There was a quake, hissing, jeering, and as Madoka began the last of the spell Homura became aware of herself, her eyes wide.

Madoka, without ceasing her words, held out the potion and Homura grabbed it, drinking down its contents. The final word broke out, and Madoka reached out to hug Homura, clapping her hands together as the embrace was complete.

She shut her eyes tight, could feel the power of the spell, the malicious magic around them dissipate, and then, graciously, the autumn breeze.

Madoka opened her eyes, the sun too bright, drew back and saw Homura, the empty potion bottle falling from her hands.

“You’re okay,” Madoka said, clasping Homura’s hands and managing a smile.

“I’m okay,” Homura said, and she squeezed Madoka’s hands, making sure they were real.

“Yes, it was a bad transformation spell,” Madoka said, her mouth and tongue moving without much conscious input, “I wrote to you, once, I said it wrong once and turned into an _elephant_ , and then I learned how transformation spells go awry on any syllable you get wrong, with different results, so this one was just so _unfair_ to you-“

“I’m okay,” Homura repeated, and Madoka felt like she could finally breathe easily.

Homura tentatively looked up, her eyes full of life and steady.

“At the end of the story,” she said, with a hint of shyness, “Doesn’t the princess… kiss…”

The unanswered question took only a second to understand and Madoka nodded. Homura kissed her, quick and sweet, and it wasn’t until Homura drew away that Madoka noticed the small stain of the potion at the corner of her mouth.

“Ah, something there,” she said, and she brushed it away. The normalcy of it, like a stray speck of porridge at breakfast, made a laugh hiss through her teeth.

Homura tilted her head, smiled anyway, and stood up; she held out her hand to Madoka.

“I still want to walk with you, for your first visit,” she said. “Will you walk with me?”

Madoka’s heart was full to bursting, and she took Homura’s hand.

“Of course.”


End file.
